


this is how it works

by busaikko



Series: on the radio [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Amputation, Community: sga_kinkmeme, Disabled Character, M/M, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He's always had a realistic sense for the odds of being badly, even fatally, wounded.  He has always told himself that he will be able to survive anything.  But in his head he's freaking out so bad.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is how it works

**Author's Note:**

> written for http://community.livejournal.com/sga_kinkmeme/5311.html?thread=904639#t904639

> this is how it works  
> you're young until you're not  
> you love until you don't  
> you try until you can't  
> you laugh until you cry  
> you cry until you laugh  
> and everyone must breathe  
> until their dying breath  
> Regina Spektor "On the Radio"  
> 

John snaps awake sharp and sudden as if he'd been doused in ice water, shouting. He remembers the ground rushing right at the glass in front of him, blackness and pain, and then nothing. He takes a few deep raw breaths and looks around. His sudden alertness is coupled with a disconcerting lag in his vision, things bobbing into view and distorting. He thinks he's drugged. He hopes his vision isn't fucked permanently. The ceiling is bright pink and painted with what look like elephants and dirigibles. This convinces him he's not on Earth.

A man in a shapeless dress appears and gives him a wide friendly smile from behind his wild bushy beard. John smiles back. He's been concentrating on the ceiling because he can't move his arms or his legs, can't feel his toes, isn't even sure if there's a tube up his dick. He's always had a realistic sense for the odds of being badly, even fatally, wounded. He has always told himself that he will be able to survive anything. But in his head he's freaking out so bad.

He only understands two out of every three words the man -- a nurse -- says; alien planet, check. But then a doctor, also wearing a dress and with a serious beard, comes and explains, in simple words, making sure John gets his meaning, that John was the only survivor of a bad wreck, that they did what they could for him, but. Well.

The doctor thinks John ought to be happy that he still has one knee and one elbow, considering how bad the wreck was. He gives John a very matter-of-fact introduction to his injuries, touching just below John's left shoulder where he lost his arm, then above his former right wrist, then touches John's legs under the sheet. The doctor gives a two-sentence canned speech about positive thinking, adds something to John's IV, and leaves before John breaks down in tears.

The nurse pats him in a way that's meant to be comforting, John is sure, but it just makes him resolve to never cry again. He loses a few weeks to the good drugs and healing, and then one day there's a new face looking down at him.

Medical care isn't free, he's told. The hospital debt-collector gets out something like a white board, except it's pink, and writes the amount of John's debt and how much he'll need per month for room and board and rehab. "Our work-skills counselor will be around to see you," John is told. He has no idea what he can do to earn a living. He has a good grasp on the local language by now; most of his comprehension problems were related to the (very expensive) drug habit he's being weaned off. He thinks about call centers. He can tell people to turn their printers off or open the start menus or whatever. Hell, he could probably even do sales. Or phone sex. Right?

He doesn't mention the phone sex thing to the counselor because it sounds too weird, but it turns out that people like him usually have their services sold to a brothel, anyway. "Only for a few years," the man tells him earnestly. "If you're frugal and talented, then you'll be able to buy prosthetics and take job training classes."

John stares at him. "I'm a pilot," he says as if it means something, but it doesn't, not when he has crashed, not when he's the only survivor, not when he's been here months now with no rescue. He has been left behind, and that knowledge is like a black hole in his head that he tries never ever to look into.

"Someone will be here to pick you up tomorrow afternoon," the man says after an awkward moment. "Do you have clothes? Makeup? A wheelchair?" John doesn't. It's amazing how debt just piles up. The counselor arranges for him to rent one of the hospital's wheelchairs like the one he's learned to use, with the complicated gear system. The other items are delivered from what John hopes to God is the alien Target and not some pricy boutique. The short-sleeved shirt feels like loose cotton, and John can almost get it on by himself. The shorts are made from the same material and look like underwear, but they are one hundred percent better than nothing.

The nurse with the beard, whose name is Uyoyai Ei, a soup of vowels that John always gets wrong. shaves John close like he usually does -- beards are popular here, and John wonders if being clean-shaven is a sign of being a whore -- and then puts some black stuff around his eyes and a single line of red along John's bottom lip.

"You look good," the nurse tells him with earnest honesty all over his face. "If I didn't have my own spouses at home. . . ."

John really wants to say, _Then what, you'd pay to fuck me even though you know my options here are sex slavery or bust?_ But he kind of likes this guy, so he just swallows down hard and then asks, "I'm not from around here. What kind of sex are people going to want?"

Uyoyai's cheeks crinkle up as if in embarrassment. He talks about blowjobs and anal sex, even gives John a few tips, and he parrots off a safe-sex lecture which at least teaches John the word for condom. "Workers' hours are set by law," Uyoyai tells him. "No shifts longer than four _yat_ , and you get a total of _kul-yat_ for breaks." John translates that to hours in his head, one day being ten _yat_. It's not as bad as it could be. "There's a girl there who will help you," Uyoyai says. "One hot meal will be provided."

John's pretty sure he'd throw his hot meal up if he was stupid enough to eat it.

There are actually seven patients from the hospital on the bus to the brothel. John's not even the worst off. One girl looks like she's in a coma. John almost envies her.

The bus ride is the first time John's been outside the hospital. He knows there was a massive explosion that took out a huge chunk of the countryside; the memory of his crash is full of holes, but he thinks there was a space battle, and his jumper was part of the debris that rained down. He'd heard that the city is swollen with refugees and people looking for work, and that the government should do this, or that. But the reality of it hits him hard. Masses of people along the roadsides, buildings tumbled together, and massive signboards are a sensory overload, too much for him to take in.

The brothel is basically a corridor with a string of curtained-off rooms down one side and windows on the other. John's room has a bed and a couple of solid foam cushions. The girl Uyoyai spoke about is named Haohao, and she tells him he better not forget it because she's the most important person in his life. She tells him this as she's moving the bed from one side of the room to the other and adjusting the height so that John can get to the bed from his wheelchair by himself. She even uses tape on the floor to mark where the wheelchair has to be parked. Then she shows him the drawer where the condoms and lube are kept, and the paybox where customers have to slide their money-tags. She helpfully tapes over the slots for vaginal sex and handjobs.

And then John's on his own, hanging out on his bed and watching the aliens move along the street past the outside windows. A lot of them look in like they're shopping, which makes John feel like he must be in the red-light district, but then a group of children in school uniforms go past, so maybe not.

He gets his first customer after maybe twenty minutes. The man walks in and pulls the curtain shut after him and sticks his tag in the oral slot.

"You're new, right?" the guy asks, and John says, "Yeah, first day on the job."

The guy looks at John and John gives him his best blank look back, and then the guy unwraps his skirt and takes off his loincloth and his shoes. He climbs up on the bed and John asks him to make sure the cushions are against the wall. John pulls the guy closer and licks at his dick to get it hard. The guy doesn't even need to be asked to put on a condom before John takes his dick into his mouth. Probably he's a regular customer. John hasn't given head in ages, but it's not that difficult. The guy mostly wants to fuck John's mouth. He digs his hands into John's hair right before he comes, pulling hard as he groans and shoves into John's face. John gags a bit and feels his eyes water, but then the guy's sliding out of his mouth, getting off the bed and pulling on his clothes.

"You're good," the guy says. John says thanks. His mouth feels weirdly dry from whatever the condoms are made from, and bruised. "Mind if I come back again?"

"No," John says honestly. "I'll be around, come by anytime." Hell, he's going to be here for _years_.

John's next three customers all want blowjobs, and only one is a dick and insists that John get on his knees on the floor, which means asking Haohao for help and borrowing a small cushion, because John's only got one knee, asshole. When the guy leaves, Haohao helps John back up and gives him a piece of candy that tastes like cloves.

"Some people are just _yeyeha_ ," she says, with a roll of her eyes.

"Exactly," John agrees, and stretches so hard he nearly loses his balance.

The next guy who comes along wants to blow _John_. John's dick has perked up a few times so far -- he likes cock, what can he say? -- but he hasn't really been turned on. He manages to get it up for the guy. It's nice. He has figured out how to get himself off with his right arm, but it takes effort; a warm eager mouth and fingers rolling his nipples are so much better. He comes with a shout, arching up, feeling phantom pleasure in the lost parts of his body that only ever hurt these days.

He's a lot more mellow for the next blowjob he gives, and then it's his legally mandated break. Haohao shows him where the toilet is and helps him out, and directs him to the kitchen while she deals with the next guy in line.

John's still not sure about the hot meal -- today's looks like oatmeal with chunks of fish -- but there's soup and they have the sippy-cup things with straws. John settles in to sip, despite the way his jaw aches, and observe.

The society is pretty segregated. John's in the male wing of the hospital, which means that the doctors and the patients and the nurses and even the cleaning staff are all male. The brothel is the same, only male customers for the men. But the kitchen is mixed, men and women sitting at the same tables, even. Some of the other workers are also in wheelchairs or using crutches, but most look healthy. John supposes that anyone can get into debt. Maybe some of them are paying off college loans or mortgages.

No one talks to him, but he gets that. He's new, and alien to them, and it's hard not to notice he's missing most of his arms and legs. He'd expected to be more of a freak magnet, honestly, attracting clients who found his mobility limitations a turn-on, who thought that stumps were hot. Maybe some of his customers think that way, but so far no one's said anything. One thing about these aliens, they're got an incredibly well-mannered society.

The _kul-yat_ break feels really short, but John figures that's just because everything takes him longer these days, plus he's kind of dreading going back to work. It's like how once you get out of the ocean and warm up you're reluctant to get back in. But John's pretty good at pushing himself to keep going and not so good at giving up.

His first customer of the second shift is a pudgy little guy with a little dick. John has a thing for small dicks; there's a lot more you can do with them. He kind of gets into making it good, and the guy doesn't mind when John strokes his balls with what John's starting to think of as his right hand. John's not sure how comfortable he is with liking the blowjob so much, but when the guy's leaving he takes his tag out of the box, gives John a wink, and then sticks it back in. There's the faint whir that means he's being debited, and then the guy takes his tag out again.

John just got his first tip, he figures, and he can't help himself. He blushes and says, "Thanks."

"See you around," the guy says, opening the curtain as he leaves.

Outside the window it's dark, and John figures it's pretty late. He's on hospital time, used to getting up at two-and-a-half _yat_ , and this feels like his bedtime. He kind of hopes that he won't get any more customers, but he does.

The guy comes in with Haohao, and John's heart hammers instinctively as the curtain is pulled shut. Haohao opens the supply drawer, pulls on a disposable glove, and has John roll over so she can stuff lube up his ass with her fingers. John's always been really fond of extended foreplay. He tells himself this isn't sex, it's just getting fucked, it doesn't mean anything more than money in the bank.

Haohao leaves and the guy takes off his skirt (John figures he was shy in front of Haohao, who is intimidating like a force of nature) and asks John what positions he can manage. John has to say he has no idea, first day on the job and all that. The guy seems to take that as a challenge. There's a lot of manhandling and creative use of cushions as they work their way through some alien Kama Sutra. Midway through the marathon of fucking John forgets that he's a whore, forgets that he's alone and crippled, forgets everything except the dick in his ass and the hand on his dick and the mouth on his throat. He comes so hard that he can't hold himself up with his arm any more, shoulders dropping to the mattress as he gulps in air. The guy grabs John's hips with both hands and fucks him through his orgasm, and keeps fucking him. John's whole world collapses to the feeling of that dick inside him. The guy slams in bruisingly hard, comes with a hilarious series of yips like a coyote, and pulls out so fast that John's ass feels abandoned.

The guy's gone before John can even manage to roll over. He leaves the curtain open, and the few people who'd been looking in at John's fucked-out ass now have a great view of his dick and the spunk on his stomach. John looks for his shorts and spots them on the floor. He could climb down but he's not sure he could pick them up and he's pretty certain he couldn't get them on by himself anyway, so he just shoves his shirt down and waves sarcastically at anyone he catches staring. One person waves back.

He falls asleep for a little bit. Haohao wakes him up and gives him a rubdown with a cold wet towel. She pulls on another glove and gives him a rectal exam that's as humiliating as it is painful. She shoves some goop up his ass and helps him into his shorts, and down to the toilets again. And then it's time to go back to the hospital on the bus with all the other patients.

John made pretty good money, he thinks. He works his finances out in his head. He knows how much he wants to pay back to avoid getting completely reamed with interest, but he also has some things he wants. A prosthetic hand is near the top of the list; he can live without fancy clothes, but he really wants to be able to scratch his own ass. He also wants to find out if this planet has a stargate or spaceships, any kind of offworld contact at all, and for that he'll need mobility and information. But what he really wants, wants more than anything, is to get out to the crash site, to see the wreckage for himself. Take some flowers, say a prayer or two. Tell his people that he doesn't blame them for leaving him behind, that they can rest easy, he still loves them. John Sheppard can take care of himself.


End file.
